


When The Road Looks Rough Ahead

by evilmaniclaugh



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Coffeehouse Wars, Fluff, M/M, Musketeers AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmaniclaugh/pseuds/evilmaniclaugh
Summary: Modern AU set in present day London and inspired by You’ve Got Mail. Olivier Lafere and Porthos Vallon are rival café owners. Unbeknownst to them, the two men have something far more important in common.Warning: this fic features too much fluff, a small amount of emo and a lurcher called Richelieu.





	1. Chapter 1

The site was a hive of activity and Porthos looked around him, full of pride at how well his builders were getting on with the latest N&B project. Number 38 would soon be up and running. He’d already interviewed for staff and had a full team trained, just waiting for a start date.

“I’m parched,” he said, licking dry and rather dusty lips. “Anyone else want a coffee?”

There was a resounding chorus of no’s and Porthos looked at his watch. The reason for this was clear. It would soon be knocking off time and, knowing this lot, they had their eyes firmly set on several cold, wet beers down by the river.

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner, by the old railway bridge,” said Jerry, his project manager. “Better make the most of it while it's still there,” he added with a wink.

Porthos shot him a wry grin in response. Putting other places out of business wasn’t something he enjoyed, but neither was it his problem. His degree had taught him to be ruthless. When setting up for himself he had examined the model of a successful pub chain, applying their principles where possible, and now people flocked to his N&B coffeehouses. Whatever type of premises he took over, he made sure to keep true to their roots. His first big showcase café had originally been an Art Deco library and it still retained its identity, even down to the oak shelves full of books. In contrast, number 38 had belonged to an ancient car mechanic and Porthos’ interior specialist and best friend Aramis was at present scouring the auction houses for suitable decorator’s items to hang on the walls.

“See you lot on Monday,” he said as he left the building site. “Have a good weekend.”

It was a beautiful Spring day. The sun was a potent ball of fire in the sky and Porthos relished its warmth, taking off his sweater and tying it around his waist. It didn’t hurt to show off his muscles. He’d been feeling increasingly lonely since his last serious relationship had ended over a year ago now. He’d been immensely attracted to Charon, but the guy had turned out to be scum and Porthos didn’t tolerate liars.

The café that Jerry had referred to was indeed just a few hundred yards from number 38. It was unprepossessing in looks, an elongated rectangle of a building that was hidden beneath the metal girders of an old bridge, the inside of it painted lavatorial white with nothing breaking up the starkness of the walls except for a few dog eared travel posters that had been dotted about at random intervals. Porthos would have left immediately had it not been for the magnetic allure of roasting beans. 

Following his nose up to the counter, he looked around for a menu but found none. All that was to be seen was a limited selection of croissants, savoury and sweet, protected beneath scratched plastic domes.

“Hello, my love,” said a cheery faced barista from behind the serving counter. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a black coffee please,” said Porthos. This obsession with uber sickly, bizarrely favoured hot drinks, all served with a squirt of plastic cream and a dusting of cocoa powder was not to his taste. They did however provide him with a very healthy income. “How fresh are the pastries?”

“Very. All of them made by my own fair hand this morning,” beamed the woman.

“Bloody good too,” said a voice from the corner.

An old man, homeless from the look of his filthy clothing, was tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs and Porthos discovered that he quite fancied an all day breakfast.

“I wouldn’t mind a sausage sandwich,” he said.

The woman shook her head apologetically. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s pastries only for customers. Serge is special.”

Porthos shrugged, feeling a tad put out. This was not the way to run a business. “Then I’ll have a cheese and ham croissant,” he said. Not eating might prove a point, but it would do nothing to alleviate his sudden attack of hunger.

“That’ll be two pounds fifty,” said the woman. “Grab a seat and I’ll bring it over.”

Porthos put the tenner back in his wallet, paying instead from loose change in his pocket, then chose a table beside the open doorway to get the benefit of some fresh air, and also make a quick getaway if needed. 

“I’m Constance,” said the barista as she carried over the tray. “Are you new here? We generally know all our regulars.”

Porthos looked around at a café that was conspicuously devoid of paying customers and raised his eyebrows in askance.

“We have a busy breakfast and lunchtime crowd,” added Constance, her blue eyes sparking defensively. She then wilted a little. “I think the nice weather today has driven a lot of them down to the river.”

“To answer your question, I _am_ new to the area,” said Porthos, taking a sip of coffee, his eyes closing in sheer bliss. The blend was great and the beans were roasted to perfection. “I’m here temporarily for work.”

“Oh,” said Constance, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping you lived locally. This area used to be lovely, not quite bohemian but really artsy. Now all the fun people seem to be moving out.”

Porthos shrugged, feeling unusually guilty. He lived in a much more upmarket part of London than this. Chelsea wasn’t far away when measured by miles, but in terms of lifestyle it was totally different. He was damn proud of his huge Georgian conversion, away from the traffic and yet still within a stone’s throw of the centre.

“Enjoy your meal,” said Constance. She smiled engagingly. “Hopefully it’s good enough to tempt you back.”

“Thanks,” said Porthos. The ridiculously cheap price had convinced him that this was going to be a definite assault on his taste buds, but in actual fact the croissant was buttery and light with both cheese and ham of excellent quality.

To prevent himself from wolfing it down like a starving man, he took out his phone and hooked up to the café wifi, relieved that he didn’t have to jump through hoops to join their network -- another plus point for the oddly named Garrison. Checking emails first, he ignored all the business requests and switched instead to social media. Tumblr was his latest addiction; @tallanddark was a bloody awful user name, but it summed him up perfectly, both business and personal.

It was Aramis who was responsible for getting him hooked on this site. His best mate was a man who--when he wasn’t living it up with a never ending series of girlfriends and boyfriends--dedicated his online life to stylish design and attractive pornography, both of which Tumblr had in abundance. 

Lonely, for those few hours when he wasn’t actually at work, Porthos had swiftly moved on from the sexual gratification side of things into hunting out other interests. One of his favourite blogs was all about life in London. There was nothing obvious posted, no recommendations for pubs or pictures of the river frontage. Instead it was full of observational photography, all of which came with dryly humorous tag lines that, without fail, made Porthos smile. The first time he’d reposted one of @laughingisforfools’ entries, adding a funny comment of his own beneath it, a fizzle of excitement had hurtled down his spine. This was a ridiculous thing to happen when he had no idea who this person even was. The private message of thanks was even more exhilarating and, following on from that, they had continued to talk. It wasn’t exactly online flirting, but the contact was nevertheless enjoyable.

The latest post from @laughing was a photograph of the remains of a brogue, half hidden in some bushes with only the stitched side panels of the shoe still intact. _London can be a soleless place,_ was the caption.

tallanddark: You sound sad. You okay?

laughingisforfools: Sad is my usual state of being. Though I prefer to call it melancholy. Busy now. Talk later?

tallanddark: K. Should be home by 6. No plans tonight.

Taking another bite of his croissant, Porthos looked at the details Aramis had sent over, showing the horde of motoring memorabilia he’d picked up at the auction today. All of it was good quality and the prices were low enough not to impact on their budget. Working with his best friend was great. By his own admission, Aramis never committed to anything for long, but so far he’d always been there when needed and Porthos had a definite feeling that he always would be.

Distracted by a low rumble, Porthos looked up from his phone and was confronted by bared teeth and a shaggy face. The dog growled again and was quickly hauled back on its lead by an owner who, it had to be said, looked equally shaggy and unwelcoming.

“I apologise,” said the man in an offhand manner. “Richelieu tends to think that all meat products on the premises belong to him. We’ll leave you in peace to eat.”

Without waiting for a reply he then strode through the café, the dog trotting happily at his side, until they both came to a stop at Serge’s table. 

“Hello, old friend,” said the man wrinkling his nose. “I have a strong suspicion that your bath day is long overdue. Come upstairs and I’ll run you a tub of water. I have some clean clothes set aside for you and I also found some shoes in a charity shop that should fit better than my old ones.”

“Thanks, Mr Lafere. You’re a real pal,” said Serge, getting slowly to his feet and petting the dog. “I’ll pay you back someday when I win the lottery.”

“I’m counting on it,” came the reply as all three disappeared through a door marked private.

“Strange buggers,” muttered Porthos as he returned to the easy company of his phone.

It turned out that he had been overheard.

“Kindness is all too often underrated,” remarked Constance pointedly as she tidied away the plate and cup from Serge’s table then wiped the top down with a squirt of spray and a blue cloth.

“Kindness doesn't keep a business from going under,” said Porthos, without looking up. “Giving out free food to tramps and allowing dogs to menace customers is not the way to run a successful café.”

“And you’d know, would you?” came a surly voice from behind his shoulder. 

Apparently Lafere had left the tramp alone upstairs to rob him blind. The owner of the Garrison was not only strange, he was also incredibly naïve.

“Maybe I would; maybe I wouldn’t,” said Porthos, shifting in his seat in order to gain eye contact with his adversary. “Frankly, that’s none of your beeswax. If this is your place, which I assume it is, then you’d do much better to concentrate on customers’ needs rather than feeding and clothing the local homeless population.”

“And which particular customer needs are we failing?” asked Lafere, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. “You appear to have polished off your meal without complaint.”

“It was delicious,” conceded Porthos. “But there’s no menu outside to choose from and no bloody choice if anyone actually does venture inside.” He paused for effect. “Which is highly unlikely.”

“We serve coffee and pastries,” said Athos pleasantly. “Do you really need me to spell that out for you on a blackboard?”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty certain you need money in the till,” countered Porthos. “If so, I’d up your game a lot. Especially now.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Athos, eyebrow quirked in obvious irritation.

“Nothing at all.” Frowning, Porthos attempted, with difficulty, to exit his seat in a dignified manner. In the short time he had been sitting in it, the chair had become a torture chamber, metal rails digging into his limbs and cutting off the circulation. “I’m off,” he said and, feeling a need to flash the cash, left a hefty tip on the table. “It’s been a real pleasure,” he added sarcastically. “Have a nice weekend.”

During his Tube journey back to Chelsea, Porthos replayed this bizarre encounter, reenacting parts of it in his head and coming up with much better responses than he had thought of at the time. Because of this, by the time he arrived home he was feeling ineffectual and disgruntled. Lafere had looked down on him, that much was obvious, the constant smirk of amusement and dismissive tone of voice a dead giveaway. Why couldn't he have manned up and put the bloke in his place instead of leaving a tip and running away?

laughingisforfools sent a message: Are you enjoying the sun today? You seem like a sunny person. :)

Porthos felt better immediately. Contemplating these words he popped the top of a bottle of beer then opened a packet of peanuts. It was still lovely in his garden and so he slid open the bifold doors and stepped out onto the decking. He’d have a splash in the pool if he could be bothered to uncover it. Instead, iPad in hand, he sprawled across the lounger, bag of nuts on his chest, a few of them escaping to form a trail across his shirt. Using his jeans as a napkin he wiped away the worst of the grease from his fingers and then opened up the message window.

tallanddark: Outside right now soaking up the last of the rays. Might take my shirt off in a minute. You sound happier btw.

laughingisforfools: I am. I worked off some of my pent up aggression this afternoon.

tallanddark: You a gym bunny?

laughingisforfools: No, and that’s a resounding no btw. Pointless exercise is also for fools. I walk a lot. I used to fence. That’s about it.

tallanddark: Cool. I run occasionally and I work out at home. 

Porthos paused. He was certain now it was a guy he was talking to. He was also beginning to like this guy a lot.

tallanddark: Gyms are okay for hookups. I’m not really into that though.

laughingisforfools: Me either.

laughingisforfools: I don’t have much spare time at the moment. I have my blog and I have a business to run which isn’t going particularly well. That’s about it.

Porthos grinned and rubbed his hands together with determination. This was something he could seriously help out with. Get the business side of things sorted and then maybe they’d get down to… Down to what? He didn’t even know this man. The bloke could be a right minger. He could be seventy. He could be hugely fat. He could be married.

tallanddark: Are you married?

laughingisforfools: I was for a couple of years. Not happily.

Porthos’ heart sank.

laughingisforfools: Probably something to do with me being very gay.

Porthos' heart lifted like a helium balloon.

tallanddark: You don’t seem very gay.

laughingisforfools: Exactly what my wife said when she found out. She wanted to be an actress and so we moved to LA. She’s happier now. She has the house and all the money, plus the pool boy d’Artagnan. Joke’s on her because I had the pool boy first.

tallanddark: You’re having me on.

laughingisforfools: Mostly. We didn’t have a pool.

Porthos guffawed with laughter and then looked around him in embarrassment. The neighbours would think he was totally crazy.

tallanddark: Tell me about your business. I might be able to help.

laughingisforfools: Not now. The weather’s too nice to be miserable. I’m going out to take photos. I’ll bring you with me. :)

They spent the rest of the evening virtually together and Porthos had never been happier. Every impromptu picture posted to Tumblr made him grin like a loon and he commented on each one: the close up of a dog’s nose snuffling away at a discarded burger box, the Everest sized mountain of disposable coffee cups filling a rubbish skip, a pair of jeans floating elegantly down the river at sunset, @smiling’s bare feet dangling over the embankment.

laughingisforfools: I’ll have to delete most of these. Everyone will think I’m mad.

tallanddark: I love all of them. 

He looked back through the blog roll.

tallanddark: Maybe I shouldn’t comment so much. People might think we’re those kind of online friends.

He waited for a response. It took a while.

laughingisforfools: Maybe we are?

tallanddark: I have a feeling you live close to me. 

tallanddark: Should we meet up?

The long pause was deafening.

laughingisforfools: I’d like that only I’m not the best company right now. Could we rain check until I sort my business problems out?

talk and dark: I honestly think I could help. I know what I’m talking about.

laughingisforfools: I believe you and I’m not putting you off.

Porthos bit his lip in frustration. This was pointless. The guy was making endless excuses. He was probably in a relationship _and_ fat _and_ seventy _and_ cheating on a wife.

laughingisforfools: When I’m talking to you I feel so much better. I need you uncluttered, not complicated by my pathetic life. I know you think I’m lying, but I promise you I’m not.

tallanddark: My last boyfriend was a liar and a cheat.

laughingisforfools: I can beat that. My bitch of a wife stole everything from me. I then fell in love with someone and I was too scared to tell him and he died not knowing how I felt.

tallanddark: Are you writing a country and western song?

laughingisforfools: Probably.

tallanddark: Having me on again?

laughingisforfools: I’m home now so I have to make sure everything’s locked up. Talk to you later?

tallanddark: Tonight or tomorrow?

laughingisforfools: I have to open up in the morning, so tomorrow evening?

tallanddark: Sure thing. G’night. :-*

The kiss felt natural. Just that small hint of intimacy was incredibly exciting, so much so that Porthos didn’t need to look at pictures on the internet to get off. In fact he barely made it in through the bifolds before he was dragging roughly at himself. He liked this guy a lot. He was certain from their chats that he’d be as cute as hell and pictured him in his head, images fleeting and mercurial but all of them essentially that of a smart, bright, funny man -- someone who gave him the chills in a very good way.


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of weeks were a race to the finish line, with number 38 slowly taking on its identity and blossoming before their eyes.

“You’re a bloody genius, mate,” said Porthos, admiring from the sidelines as Aramis placed the last few items on shelves and instructed his decorators where to hang the vintage metal advertising signs in order to achieve the greatest effect. “One day you’ll be styling the houses of the rich and famous.”

Aramis grinned. “I’m perfectly happy as I am.” He nodded at a figure in the doorway. “Talking of fame, I imagine this is the reporter who’s arranged to interview you for the Village paper.”

It still amused Porthos how London retained its so called village areas. There was certainly nothing chocolate box about this particular borough.

“Isaac Vallon?”

Porthos nodded. His full name jarred every time it was used, but it looked damn good when etched onto a business card.

“I’m Emile Bonnaire,” said the man, extending his arm as he spoke. “From the Vox.”

“Yeah, I guessed,” replied Porthos as he accepted the handshake. Whilst not quite camp, there was something over the top theatrical about the man that didn’t ring true. “What can I tell you?”

“Everything,” replied Bonnaire, looking around him. “You know, I’m certain my father used to bring his car here to have it serviced back in the eighties.”

“You’re a proper local then?”

“I am indeed,” said Bonnaire with all the confidence of a snake oil salesman.

Porthos didn’t believe him for a second and moved away to stand behind the counter. Now was as good a time as any to test the equipment before it was handed over to the staff. “Would you like a coffee or a tea?”

“A café au lait would go down a treat,” said Bonnaire, watching as Porthos worked. “It’s good to see the boss at ease behind the counter.”

“Being a barista helped me pay my way through university,” explained Porthos. “I also saved every spare penny I could in order to get N&B off the ground.”

“So, you’re a true working class hero?” said Bonnaire.

Porthos snorted dismissively. “Don’t think they come from a middle class family via the LSE. I did all this myself though, with the help of a start up loan.” He then waved a hand in Aramis’ direction. “I wouldn’t have got anywhere without my friend Aramis over there. We came up with the concept when we were students. We knew it was vital that every N&B had a familiar menu that the customers could rely on, but we also wanted to make sure that each shop remained very much unique.”

“Going against the grain of corporate identity,” added Bonaire.

“Yeah exactly,” said Porthos. “My bank manager wasn’t too happy with that to begin with, but he loves it now.”

“They always do when the money starts rolling in,” said Bonnaire. “Your family must be very proud.”

Porthos shrugged. “I’m proud of what I’ve achieved,” he said. “We make a point of employing young people from the local area and training them up to have a career with us, if that’s what they want.”

The truth was that Porthos didn’t come from a settled middle class background. He was the product of the social care system, living in children’s homes and with foster families since he was a nipper. None of that had any bearing on his success, although it did mean he was quietly determined to give other underprivileged kids a helping hand along the way.

“So,” said Bonnaire, sipping delicately at his coffee, tongue swiping away the milky froth from his lips. “How do you address the criticism that your N&B chain stampedes across all the independent cafés in the area?”

“Business is business.” Porthos frowned. “If they provide a good service then they’ll continue to thrive, with or without us. Look at the biggest coffee providers in the world. Sometimes you can stand on a busy street and see three of them within a hundred yards of each other.”

“Agreed,” said Bonnaire. “However they have the funding to support themselves in this way. There is also an argument that you make matters worse by choosing bigger and more diverse premises to set up in.”

“You mean it would be preferable if I frogmarched every independent café owner to the bank and offered to buy them out?” said Porthos. “I don’t see how that’s any better. Look, Bonnaire, people eat and drink all day long and they’re happy to spend at least a tenner each time they visit a place, so therefore there has to be room for plenty of us to exist side by side on the average high street.” He paused and considered his words. “A couple of weeks ago, I was on a visit here to see how the building work was progressing. Afterwards, I dropped into a nearby café for a bite to eat. The coffee was amazing. The pastries were freshly made and delicious, but their business model was frankly pathetic. It’s a shame that these independents don’t put more thought into providing what the customer wants at a price they’re willing to pay.”

“They charge too much?”

Porthos laughed. “On the contrary, I doubt I paid enough to cover the food, let alone the running costs. It’s pretty sad to see these places vanish, but they have no one to blame but themselves.”

“Well, thank you very much indeed, Mr Vallon,” said Bonnaire, packing away his dictaphone and getting up from his seat. “It’s been most illuminating. The article will published on Wednesday in time for your grand opening.”

Porthos watched the reporter scuttle off, a vague air of despondency creeping over him as the door slammed shut.

Aramis slung an arm over his shoulder and sighed. “There goes a man with an agenda,” he said thoughtfully. “And I believe he got exactly what he wanted.”

“What?” growled Porthos, the light slowly dawning. “The little tosser! He never actually asked me anything about this place.”

Aramis shrugged. “Like I said: he had a mission.”

“You could have helped me out.” Porthos aimed a sideways glance at his best mate.

“No harm done,” Aramis assured him. “As soon as the doors open, number 38 will be heaving, just like all the rest. Your brand won’t be hurt by a single social justice journo, hoping to launch himself into the big time by defending the weak.”

“I guess so,” said Porthos.

However knowing that Aramis was right didn’t actually make him feel any better about the situation, and once again, on the short journey home, his thoughts turned to the Garrison and its surly owner. The argument was valid both ways. If he’d marched in, waving his chequebook and offering to buy Lafere out then he’d be judged equally as harshly. More so in his opinion, because at least doing it his way the smaller cafés stood a chance of survival. 

Deciding that he couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself tonight, he selected one of the vast array of single person meals he’d ordered from an upmarket catering company. The box might be posh, but it was still freezer food for microwaves and it didn’t exactly excite his taste buds.

Sighing deeply he pushed the food around on his plate, wondering how he could ever consider himself to be successful when he was so damn lonely. Having Aramis in his life helped a lot, but the man was a social butterfly, constantly flitting around town, looking gorgeous and attracting a wide range of mates. Once upon a time Porthos had made the effort to go out with him, but the truth was that he much preferred staying in. He liked to cook. To watch movies in his den. To listen to music and not care how rubbish his dance moves were. He was a quiet and home loving man who was currently struggling with being on his own.

Picking up his iPad, he glanced through a string of dull notifications and then opened the message window on Tumblr.

tallanddark: You there?

Staring at the screen was a waste of time. He’d not heard from @laughing for ages. Not since he’d stupidly asked for that meet up. There had been no pictures posted to his Tumblr and it was looking probable that the guy was now terrified of him and had done a runner.

He poured himself a third large glass of wine then immediately tipped it away down the sink. Solitary drinking wasn’t the solution and could easily end up being more of a problem. Instead, he changed into shorts and a t-shirt and decided to make use of the home gym he’d had installed in the basement last year as a Christmas present to himself.

An hour later he was glistening with sweat and physically tired, but his mind was still racing around in circles. A long shower soothed him a little, the hot jets of water biting into his skin and relaxing muscle fibre until he was loose and pleasantly lethargic.

It was pointless getting dressed at this late hour and so with a towel wrapped around his waist, he loped through the house, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and settling down to watch television.

The ding from both tablet and phone was distinctly Tumblr and he reached over in a flurry of movement to grab his iPad from the side table, almost knocking over his water in the process.

laughingisforfools sent you a message: I’m here. Sorry I haven’t been about, but I was busy moping.

Immediately Porthos laughed. 

tallanddark: Is moping a full time occupation now?

laughingisforfools: It is for me. I’ve turned it into an art form. What have you been up to?

tallanddark: Crazy busy at work, but that should be over with soon. After that I’m hoping for some down time.

laughingisforfools: What will you do? Holiday in the sun?

tallanddark: :) We have plenty of good weather here at the moment. Why pay for some sand and a crowded beach?

laughingisforfools: I agree. The wife dragged me around the world a lot. Mainly to be seen in the right places. 

laughingisforfools: There are some wonderful bays on the west coast of France I remember from when I was young. They’re even better in winter without people cluttering them up.

Porthos grinned, convinced now that he’d found a soul mate.

tallanddark: I couldn’t agree more. 

tallanddark: Maybe you can show me one day.

The wine was still having an effect and loosening his tongue, rogue words catching him off guard. A second too late he realised what an idiot he was being, because this was only going to succeed in driving his friend away once more.

laughingisforfools: I will.

laughingisforfools: I’m going to Virginia Water on Sunday. There are some Roman ruins there I’ve heard about and I’d like to see them for myself.

Porthos was confused by the odd diversion. 

tallanddark: Bucket list?

laughingisforfools: :D Far from it. Just somewhere interesting to visit.

laughingisforfools: I was wondering if perhaps we could meet up there?

tallanddark: Yes. I’d love to. Where is it? What time?

laughingisforfools: Elevenish? I’ll send you a link. It has the postcode on it I think. [Virginia Water](http://www.windsorgreatpark.co.uk/en/experiences/virginia-water)

Porthos was very much aware that he was sounding pathetically eager--a puppy bouncing up and down, desperate for attention--and yet he couldn’t stop the slide.

tallanddark: Really cool. I could do with a day out. You know what they say about all work and no play.

laughingisforfools: :) Makes _who_ a dull boy?

tallanddark: If I said Jack, then you wouldn't believe me.

laughingisforfools: Because it would be a lie. ;)

laughingisforfools: I’m Athos. I’m single, male and thirty five, and I won’t be carrying a copy of Pride and Prejudice. I will, however, have a camera around my neck.

tallanddark: Hi Athos. Nice to meet you XD. I’m Porthos. I’m single, male and thirty three. I don’t have a camera or a Jane Austen novel, but I _am_ black so I’ll probably stand out from the crowd on a naice day out in Surrey.

laughingisforfools: Funny man. You obviously don’t bother looking at the varying kinds of people who go on days out.

tallanddark: I’m usually too busy working to go anywhere.

laughingisforfools: Then we must make sure this is a positive experience. I’ll bring food.

tallanddark: Good coz I like food.

I like _you_ , Porthos was thinking over and over again in his head. I like you I like you. I like you. But what if he were misreading the situation? Aramis was always telling him off for being a habitual conclusion jumper, and so he steeled himself and popped the question.

tallanddark: Is this a date?

laughingisforfools: I damn well hope so. I don’t offer to bring food lightly. :)

Again Porthos was laughing, almost hysterically by now. He glanced at the time and could see that an hour had slipped past without him even noticing.

tallanddark: Sunday is too far away. :( I’d love to hang out and talk to you all night, but I have to be up early.

laughingisforfools: Me too, not that there’s much point. Sleep well. Talk to you soon.

tallanddark: See you soon, Athos :-*


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos stood outside the coffee shop, looking upwards as the new board was revealed. It was the standard colouring of grey white on a weathered black background that he always used, but he liked to make sure that the sign writers had got the details correct. A missed bracket or an incorrect font would spoil everything. 

Satisfied, he gave the man a thumbs up and went back inside, rubbing at his eyes which had been dazzled from staring at the sun.

“You have a decidedly smug outlook on life at the moment,” remarked Aramis from behind the counter where he was busying making drinks for the team. “It can’t be anything to do with this place, so spill the beans, chéri.”

“I have a date on Sunday,” said Porthos proudly. It was all he had been thinking about since Athos had asked him out. He’d also been doing a lot of ‘thinking’ with his hand, his imagination running wild. They’d been talking every night, the conversations stopping before they had spilled over into sex, but there was definite flirting going on and lots of it too.

“Go you,” said Aramis, carrying their drinks over to a table and then settling down to listen. “Tell all.”

“He’s called Athos,” said Porthos, taking the seat opposite his best friend and leaning back with a dreamy expression in his face. “He’s really funny in a dry kind of way. We get on brilliantly. He has me laughing all night.”

“Just laughing?“ queried Aramis, both eyebrows raised. “I take it he’s gorgeous from the way you’re drooling.”

Porthos looked sheepish. “He has nice feet,” he said with a grin.

“Important, but not the obvious body part to hone in on, unless you have a secret fetish.” Aramis’ jaw dropped. “Oh my god, Porthos. You’ve never seen him, have you? Please tell me this isn’t the weird blogger who takes arty photos of cat’s eyes and crumpled car doors?”

Porthos was instantly affronted. Athos wasn’t a weirdo. He just had a different view of life from most. “So what if it is him?” he asked. “It’s no different to finding someone on Plenty of Fish, except that he and I weren’t actively looking for a seedy hook up.”

“I just want you to be safe,” said Aramis softly. “I know how much Charon hurt you. Flea should never have introduced you to him. She must have realised what he was like.”

“It wasn’t her fault,’ said Porthos defensively. “She had no idea what kind of trouble he was mixed up in.”

“No, she was too busy saving the whales to take any notice,” muttered Aramis.

Flea had been Porthos’ friend since childhood. She was as free as a bird -- of no fixed abode and always off on adventures. Porthos admired her spirit but could never live like that himself. He’d tried it for a while, but it wasn't for him. The only good thing that had come out of his experience was Charon, and that had turned sour pretty quickly.

“Where are you meeting your weirdo?” continued Aramis.

“Nowhere dodgy so you can quit worrying,” said Porthos with a grin. “We’re going to a park near Windsor to look at some Roman ruins.”

“So, he’s planning on tying you up to an old stone altar and having his wicked way with you,” chuckled Aramis. “A perfectly normal date.”

“We’re going during the daytime on Sunday and he’s offered to bring a picnic. Definite deviant traits there.” Porthos may have snorted in derision and yet a part of him welcomed Aramis’ protective instincts. “Come with me, if you want.”

“I shall,” said Aramis. “I have friends who live close to Windsor so I’ll make plans to take them out for a pub lunch. Sunday you say?”

“Aramis!” said Porthos. “I really don’t need a minder.”

“Humour me,” said Aramis who was already sending a message on his phone, a reply to it pinging back instantly. “Excellent,” he said, dusting his hands off. “That’s a date with the Bourbons sorted. Now all we have to do is choose your clothes and buy you a taser to fend off your weirdo.”

“Good morning, my lovelies,” said the postie, breezing in through the open doors. “I have a bunch of stuff for you today.” 

She dumped the mail on the table. “I can’t wait for this place to open so I can grab a coffee on my round.”

“Have one now,” said Aramis, racing to the counter. “Anything you desire is yours, chérie. Our world is your oyster.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, responding the way everyone always did to his magic powers. “I’ll have a toffee sea salt latte to go.”

In the meantime, Porthos was sifting through the bundle of letters. There were bills, bills and more bills, despite the fact that he had requested everything to be paperless. The rest of it was all advertising, except for a complimentary copy of the Village Vox. 

Porthos preened a little at the sight of himself in black and white on the front page of the local paper. He couldn't deny the fact that he loved to be seen in print, even if it was just an old picture dredged up from the archives. N&B Move In, was the headline that accompanied it--all positive so far--but then he began to read on only to discover a diatribe of nonsense about how chains such as his trampled over independent businesses and left a vacuum in their wake.

He’d initially thought the front page was bad enough, but then he turned to page three to find that the story continued, now focusing on the Garrison as the coffee shop that he had pulled to pieces in the latter part of his interview. 

There were quotes from Lafere about how he believed in selling good, honest food at a decent price and was never going to try and compete with the choccymockysoy brigade, with or without cream. 

There were pictures of Lafere and Constance standing in front of an empty café with Richelieu the lurcher looking sadly up at the camera for added effect.

The closing paragraph was a peach:

_Olivier Lafere inherited the Garrison café from a friend and has made it his life’s work to keep the business going, adhering to the same high moral standards as that of its previous owner. With the high street saturated by super chains and N &B moving in to take over the Village, sadly this now seems nothing more than an impossible dream. _

“For fuck’s sake,” snarled Porthos, throwing the newspaper down in disgust.

“Time to make a swift exit,” yelped the postie, grabbing her takeaway cup and hot footing it through the open doors.

“Calm down, Porthos,” said Aramis, returning to the table and picking up the offending copy of the Vox. “What on earth has happened to my sunny best friend?”

Sunshine reminded him of Athos and Porthos ached to be at home, away from all this crap and chatting on his tablet.

“Read it and see,” he sighed. “I’ve been stitched up good and proper.”

He watched Aramis carefully as he scanned the piece and knew, from the darkening expression on the man’s face, that this time he hadn’t been guilty of overreacting.

“I never even referenced the Garrison by name,” he said. “I swear I didn’t tear them to pieces that much. If anything, I told people that they sold good food at low prices, although the little shit Bonnaire made certain to edit that part out.”

“You did say that the café in question was close by and had a limited menu,” said Aramis. “I suppose it wasn’t difficult to deduce its identity from the facts.”

“I have to go there and tell him the truth,” said Porthos, getting determinedly to his feet. “If Bonnaire posted me a copy of the hatchet job, then he’s bound to have sent Lafere one as well.”

“No, Porthos,” said Aramis, standing up and making a barrier between him and the door. “Don’t do anything impulsive. Misunderstandings happen in business all the time.”

“I’m going there now,” said Porthos. He didn’t honestly understand it himself, but he needed to speak to Lafere face to face and explain what had happened.

“Then I’m coming with you,” said Aramis, predictable but lovely as always. “The pubs are open; maybe we should have a fortifying brandy first?”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” said Porthos, ignoring any distraction techniques and marching out of number 38 with Aramis chasing to catch up as they headed for the shop around the corner.

Through the murky expanse of glass he could see that café was busier than it had been before. This was annoying because he’d been hoping for a chance to smoothe things over in private. “Here we go then,” he said as he entered the building.

The door screeched on its hinges and although the line of customers disregarded this, carrying on as before, Constance immediately caught Porthos’ eye, her gaze hardening.

“He’s out walking Richelieu,” she said in a loud voice. “Best be gone before he gets back. He’s not at all happy.”

“I came here to talk to him, Constance,” said Porthos. “I’m not going until I do.”

“Then you can wait at one of the tables outside, because you’re not welcome in here.”

Aramis approached the counter. “Constance,” he said with a dazzling smile. “That’s a really beautiful name. It suits you.”

She glowered at him and folded her arms. “You can forget all that showy bollocks. I know your type. You can wait outside with your friend.” 

“No drinks on the house then?” asked Aramis with a cheeky grin.

“No drinks full stop,” she said. “Now go.”

Porthos was already on his way out of the door, choosing the seat with best view so that this time he wouldn’t be caught unawares by a bad tempered dog, or savaged by its far more ferocious owner.

“Have a cigarette,” said Aramis, sitting opposite him and offering his packet of Bensons.

“You know I don’t smoke,” replied Porthos, checking both ways once again.

“I thought it might be a good time to start,” said Aramis, lighting up. “To calm the nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” said Porthos, and then he discovered, to his chagrin, that he was. Very much so, in fact, which was ridiculous because he was the wronged party here. Right now he should be hammering on Bonnaire’s door, demanding a retraction. Maybe he’d do that as soon as he’d finished at the Garrison. 

The sight of two scruffy individuals lolloping up the road towards them did little to put him at his ease. The expression on Lafere’s face, when he caught sight of him, said it all, and Porthos was convinced that he would have stalked straight past had it not been for Richelieu who stopped to lap thirstily at the water bowl by the door.

“I didn’t mention this place by name,” said Porthos, standing up and not bothering with any kind of greeting. It didn’t seem appropriate somehow.

“You certainly went into great detail about an incompetently run small business in the local area.” Lafere’s eyes were as stark as the interior of his café. “I got the point clearly enough when you were telling me to my face. There was really no need to reiterate it to the papers.”

“I-” Porthos was momentarily lost for words. Lafere had a way of making him feel two foot six rather than six foot two. “I was goaded into things that I should never have said to anyone, let alone a reporter.”

“Things you didn’t mean?”

Porthos frowned. He couldn't tell a lie to save his life and it seemed there was no easy way to back out of this. “I meant what I said,’ he began tentatively and then something inexplicable happened and he let rip. “You sell great coffee here, however your premises are run down, unappealing, and unhygienic. You don’t even try to get people over the doorstep. You charge a pathetically small amount for what you do manage to sell, and as for you, Lafere, your customer service skills are absolute shite.”

“Thank you,” said Lafere. “Now I shall feel so much better when I meet with my accountant in half an hour. Good day to you.”

“Look,” said Porthos, getting hastily to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” said Lafere, his tone icy. “It’s not personal; it’s business. Isn’t that the kind of mantra you spout when someone loses their livelihood because of you? You may be respected by the corporate world, but you have no heart and no conscience. You’re no better than something I scrape off my shoe.”

“Hang on a minute,” said Aramis, stubbing out his cigarette. “You know nothing about my friend here-”

“And neither do I want to,” said Lafere, cutting him off mid sentence. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to get ready for a meeting. Goodbye.”

With that, he strode into the building, the dog looking back at them, startled and forlorn, clearly unused to raised words.

“That went well,” said Porthos who was, in truth, shaken to the core after this confrontation.

“Chalk it up to experience and never give him another thought,” said Aramis, slapping an arm around his shoulders. “We, my friend, have a café to open tomorrow, and don’t forget that you have a date with a weirdo on Sunday. All is good.”

“Never better,” said Porthos, trying hard to convince himself of this.


	4. Chapter 4

The opening of a new shop was always a hectic experience. There were the inevitable teething problems to be dealt with -- things left off the checklist and staff members who dropped out at the last minute. The biggest issue this time was that somehow they had forgotten to add number 38 to the order from one of their biggest food suppliers. An oversight which had led to a desperate last minute scramble that involved an awful lot of begging.

Once the panic was over and the coffee shop had been successfully open for three days, Porthos ticked off an entry on his to do list, reminding him to send out gifts of champagne as thank you presents to all who had come to his aid.

“Never again,” he muttered as he clicked the order button and wearily put away his phone.

Aramis chuckled. “I’ll give it a month before you start scanning the auction catalogues, hunting for an old fire station or a windmill to convert.”

“After the stress of this one?” Porthos shook his head vehemently. “Not a chance, mate. Last thing I need is another Olivier Lafere in my life.”

And yet, despite being rushed off his feet, Porthos still found himself taking a twice daily detour, to and from the Underground station, in order to scope out his nemesis. He wouldn't call it spying exactly, but it was reassuring to see that the little café appeared to be doing well, a queue of customers present at both ends of the day. The burden of guilt, from which Porthos had been secretly suffering, was now lifted. What he’d said may have been harsh, but the truth was that he’d done Lafere a favour and all he’d received in return for it was a string of abuse.

The recent chaos meant that there had been little time to talk to Athos, and Porthos found himself pining for a return of those blissful evenings together. Together wasn’t _quite_ the word for it, but if all went well on their date this would hopefully be the case from now on. He’d been tempted to ask Athos for his phone number, but somehow messaging each other seemed more romantic. Emoji kisses might be for kids, but to Porthos they signalled the end of a bedtime conversation and had him putting down his iPad and reaching sleepily for his cock.

He woke at the crack of dawn on Sunday, greeting the new day with a smile and a heart full of anticipation. He didn’t give a damn what Athos looked like. He could be fat, bald and seventy for all Porthos cared. The important thing was that they’d finally get to know each other, warts and all. 

After an hour in the gym followed by a long, hot bath, he then ate a hearty breakfast and headed, once again, for the bathroom in order to sculpt his beard and clean his teeth for a second time.

Aramis Facetimed in the middle of this, insisting on helping him pick out his clothes. 

“We should have done this ages ago. I blame number 38,” he said rejecting two of Porthos’ shirt choices. “That one,” he said. “You look nice in blue and the cut shows off your physique.”

“I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself,” growled Porthos, taking Aramis’ advice as always. “Go away. I’ll see you at Virginia Water.”

His car wasn’t used a huge amount--yet another reason to make today seem out of the ordinary--and as he walked up the street to the block of secure garages, he experienced his first attack of the jitters and automatically checked his phone to make sure that everything was okay. There was no cancellation message from Athos and, for some reason, this had him falling headlong into a state of panic. His best friend was right all along; this was a crazy thing to do.

Keying in the entry code, he took the lift down to the basement level and unlocked his car, revving the engine and then remembering, at the last second, to add a postcode to the sat nav.

“It’s fine,” he told himself through gritted teeth as he set off. “You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. Everything’ll be fine.” He glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror. “After all, what have you got to lose?”

London traffic wasn’t what it once was, even taking into account the free parking on Sundays, and in a relatively short time he was out of the city and heading westwards. 

The call from Aramis was a happy distraction.

“You could have gone to Thorpe Park instead,” he said. “Much more fun than ancient ruins.”

“I don’t fit into roller coaster harnesses,” Porthos reminded him. “This suits me way better.”

“I’m drinking a revolting cup of tea from a kiosk here,” said Aramis, who was habitually early for everything. “You really should think about expanding your empire in this direction.”

“Not a bad idea,” said Porthos, wondering how much money could be made from snack bars.

“What would you do without me?” laughed Aramis. “I’ll wait for you by the lake. Put your foot down because I’m already bored out of my mind.”

Porthos grinned and hung up on his friend. No doubt he’d find someone attractive to help him pass the time.

It was another beautiful spring day and the car park was almost full, but eventually Porthos managed to find a space and pay for a ticket. As he walked past a row of cars, he wondered whether Athos was here waiting for him and tried to pick out the type of motor that he might drive. Nothing flash, he imagined. From their conversations it sounded as if he was a bit strapped for cash at present, not that Porthos cared about that. The list was growing endless -- fat, bald, ancient, and poor. None of it mattered.

He discovered Aramis chatting up a different kind of bird than usual, standing at the water’s edge and feeding a party of ducks with crumbled pieces of shortbread.

“These creatures are really pushy,” said his friend, slightly panicked by the ever growing rabble around his feet. “Worse than the pigeons at Piccadilly.”

Lobbing biscuits into the air as a distraction, they escaped the marauders and headed along a footpath that led to the ruins.

“Where are you supposed to be meeting him?” asked Aramis once they could see columns rising up in the distance.

“By the big white sign,” said Porthos, losing his nerve. “Go see what he’s like and then call me. He’ll have a camera with him.”

This was a pretty good identifier these days now that most people used their phones to take pictures.

“Will do,” hissed Aramis conspiratorially, giving him a double thumbs up. “I’ll check him out from behind that big beech tree.”

With phone clutched in hand, Porthos watched his friend approach the designated spot and then, rather oddly, make an immediate retreat. He answered the call the moment it came.

“Well? What’s he like?”

“He’s-” Aramis sounded strangely hesitant. “He’s fine. In fact he reminds me a little of Olivier Lafere. Do you think _he’s_ good looking, by the way?”

Porthos frowned. “I suppose so. The guy’s not ugly.” He considered his rival café owner’s aesthetics for a moment. “If he had a haircut and a shave he’d probably be pretty handsome, but, seriously Aramis, enough about Lafere.”

“Well,” said Aramis, sounding more hesitant than ever. “If you don’t like Olivier Lafere then you won’t like this man, because he _is_ Olivier Lafere.”

“Stop taking the piss,” growled Porthos.

“Come here and see for yourself, if you don’t believe me,” said Aramis. “He even has that scruffy old dog with him. And a camera.”

Instead of doing the sensible thing and making a run for it, whilst he still had the chance, Porthos’ traitorous feet carried him over to where Aramis was standing. This had to be a fucking joke and he would tear his best friend apart, limb from bloody limb, when he found out the truth.

The truth.

The fucking truth.

The fucking awful truth was that a joke _had_ been played on him, but not by Aramis. No, this was the universe choosing to make mischief. From the shelter of the beech tree Porthos could clearly see Olivier Lafere, sporting a recent haircut and neatly shaven goatee, propped up against the signpost for support. A tell tale camera was slung around his neck and he chewed anxiously at his nails, waiting for a date who was never going to show up.

“How can this be happening?” groaned Porthos, face planted in his hands. “Why him? I’d decided ages ago that it didn’t matter what he was like. But this? I can’t deal with this.”

“Come on, Porthos,” cajoled Aramis. “You like Athos a lot and you said, a moment ago, that you think Lafere is handsome. It’s rather funny if you think about it.”

“It’s not funny,” muttered Porthos. “Not funny at all. I’m going home.”

“You can’t just stand him up,” said Aramis, aghast at this decision. “He’s asked you out. He’s here waiting. He’s made a damn picnic. Go over there and admit the truth then the two of you can laugh it off and get on with your day out.”

“I can’t,” said Porthos, more miserable than he had ever been in his whole life. “Because he hates me.”

“He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him,” said Aramis gently, looping an arm around his best friend's waist. “You can change that right now if you’re as brave as I think you are.”

“It’s not about being brave,” said Porthos in a glum voice, opening up the messenger on his phone.

tallanddark: Really sorry but something's come up and I can’t make it today.

laughingisforfools: :( Is everything okay?

tallanddark: Work's kicked off and I have to go away for a while. Really pissed off about it.

laughingisforfools: I understand. I’m having problems myself. I hope we both find resolution soon. Talk later :-*

tallanddark: :-*

It seemed wrong to end the conversation with their usual sign off, but equally rotten to ignore the kiss. And besides that, he still felt something--something big? something vast?--for Athos. He simply wished that the reality of him had turned out differently.

“You haven’t dumped him by Tumblr?” questioned Aramis, sounding rightly appalled.

“I’ve put us on hold,” said Porthos. “Until I can figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do about this mess.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hi Athos-

Porthos backspaced and attempted another message.

Athos, I miss you. I’m sorry for-

Backspace, backspace, backspace. 

“Damn it to hell.”

Closing the app, he sighed in despair and threw his iPad at the sofa cushions. This was the sixth night in a row that he’d tried to contact Athos and each time had ended in failure. There was so much he wanted to say, but the problem was that he had no idea where to begin. With time on his hands to mull things over, he discovered, to his surprise, that the _idea_ of being with the Lafere version of Athos wasn’t totally unappealing. The man had his good qualities. He was kind to animals and people. Constance seemed devoted to him. His eyes, when they weren’t steel daggers aimed at Porthos’ heart, were a nice shade of green. Admittedly he wasn’t Porthos’ usual type, but he could be. He could easily be, if only they weren’t sworn enemies.

“I miss you so much,” he muttered, curling up on the sofa in a ball of sadness -- currently his usual state of being.

It wasn’t that he didn’t get to see Athos with clockwork regularity. He needed to keep visiting number 38--or so he told himself--to make sure that his newest business venture was progressing well. And if he walked a little further than necessary several times a day, then it was purely out of a need to stretch his legs.

The Garrison café was continuing to do good trade. Or so Porthos thought until the day came when it remained steadfastly closed, long past its usual opening hours, and from the other side of the street he could see a notice, scribbled in thick black marker pen, taped to the glass frontage of the shop.

He crossed the road, dodging the traffic and coming to a standstill as soon as he was close enough to decipher the scrawl, gutted as he took in the words. He’d been hoping for nothing more than an announcement of temporary closure for a refit, but this was far more devastating news.

 _To all our friends,_ it read. _We apologise for the inconvenience, but the time has come for the Garrison to permanently close its doors. We hope that you will find somewhere nearby that fulfills your needs._

_Many thanks for your loyal support throughout the years._

_Athos, Constance, John and Richelieu_

Porthos’ chest ached and, just for a second, he struggled to find breath. Shops closed all the time, it was a fact of life, but this was the first time he’d been so closely involved with one that had done so. He knew how much heart and soul went into running a business, regardless of its size, and he couldn’t imagine how one would bounce back from such a painful experience.

All the lights were off, but there was life to be seen inside the café and he tapped gently on the glass panel of the door. Expecting to be ignored, it was a surprise when Constance looked up from where she was clearing the counter and bustled over briskly in order to let him in.

“If you’ve come here to gloat then you can leave right now,” she said in a low voice.

“I haven’t,” said Porthos. “I promise.”

“Then please be kind,” said Constance, opening up fully to let him in and indicating a forlorn figure seated at the back of the shop. “Athos,” she called. “You have a visitor. I’ll tell him to piss off if you like.”

Athos looked up, eyes narrowing when he saw who it was as if he were readying for the usual fight, but then the spirit drained away from him and his shoulders sagged.

“I have no argument with you, Mr Vallon. What’s done is done.”

Summoning the kind of courage he hadn’t needed in years, Porthos approached the table.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, feeling wretched. “I never meant this to happen. The last thing I wanted was for it to end this way.”

“Believe me, this had nothing to do with you,” said Athos, folding his arms. His mouth tipped upward into a ghost of a smile, something which pierced Porthos’ armour far more deeply than any venomous glare from the past. The scruffy beard which had been shaved neatly for their failure of a date was back with a vengeance and beneath it the man looked totally exhausted.

“Thank you for saying so,” said Porthos, sitting opposite him. “What’ll you do now?”

“I haven’t decided,” said Athos. “I’ll never run a coffee shop again, that’s for certain. You were right all along. I’m no good at it.”

“You’re good at the important parts,” replied Porthos in a gruff voice. “That’s the bit that matters. The other stuff can be learned.” He leaned in closer. “It’s not personal; it’s business. You guessed that was my mantra a while ago and you were right, but only because it’s true. You have to remember that.”

All of a sudden Athos looked stricken and stood up, stumbling slightly and steadying himself against the wall. In the half light, at this windowless end of the café, Porthos could have sworn he saw a tear running down his face as he retreated towards the door marked private.

“That’s just it,” the man said softly, not once looking back at Porthos. “Sometimes, for some of us, it’s very personal indeed.”

“Wait,” said Porthos, but was too late as the door to that hidden world upstairs had already slammed shut. He looked at Constance. “What did he mean?”

“That’s his story to tell, not mine,” she said firmly and then she let out a deep sigh. “I think you like him more than you let on.”

“I do,” admitted Porthos. “Though I have no idea why.”

Constance scribbled something down on a piece of paper and handed it over. “My address so you don’t lose contact with us completely,” she said. “I’m not doing anything more. The rest you have to work at.”

“His phone number would be helpful,” said Porthos.

“I’m sure it would.” Constance remained defiant, hands on hips. “We’ll be busy for a while, which should hopefully take his mind off things. We have to move out of here before the repossession order next week. After that, who knows?” She shrugged. “You have to understand that it’ll be hard on him.”

“I get it,” said Porthos. He didn’t know the full story, but he knew enough.

That evening he opened up the messenger window, still unsure of what to say, but determined to be there as support.

tallanddark: You about?

Empathy was a cruel bitch. He could picture Athos, surrounded by boxes and staring in consternation at the screen of his phone. He could feel him as he tried to push past that need for isolation.

laughingisforfools: I am.

tallanddark: You deserve an explanation. The truth is I bottled it. I’m a coward and I lost my nerve. I’m really sorry.

laughingisforfools: Thank you for that. My bruised ego was telling me that you took one look and ran.

Porthos closed his eyes. Naïvely, he’d never even considered this. He’d been too busy thinking about himself.

tallanddark: Never. You have nice feet. That’s a sure sign that the rest of you will match. :)

laughingisforfools: :) Thank you for making me smile. I’m trying my best not to crack open the bottle of whisky I found when clearing out some stuff. It belonged to a friend. He must have hidden it away and forgotten about it. 

tallanddark: If you need some help to drink it then I’m all yours.

laughingisforfools: I think we won’t bother going down that road again. Besides, I don't touch spirits. Haven’t for years.

tallanddark: Good for you. They’re evil bastards.

tallanddark: Have I fucked things up for good?

laughingisforfools: Let’s just say for now. I have to go. I have more clearing to do. 

tallanddark: K. Talk later?

tallanddark: I really am sorry.

This was not one of those nights where Porthos would be able to snap shut his iPad and pull himself off to thoughts of a less lonely future. He got ready for bed in a daze, his head still full of Athos. Talking to the man today, both in person and online, had helped him appreciate that there wasn’t, and never had been, two different people in his life. 

Morning dawned with a new sense of purpose. Not even bothering to stick his head around the door of number 38, Porthos arrived at the Garrison, bright and early, ready to offer his services in any way he could.

Constance looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in irritation. “I did say we were busy.” 

“I thought I might be able to help,” explained Porthos. To get into the café he’d had to manoeuvre his large frame around a van that was parked up on the pavement outside, its doors open, the back already half full of old tables and chairs. “I’m great at carrying things,” he added with a winning smile.

The woman relented with a sigh that belonged to a much older person. “Go on up,” she said. “Other than the furniture, everything down here is staying as part of the fixtures and fittings, so it's just his personal things that have to be shifted.” She scrubbed at her eyes. “This is so unfair.”

“What’ll you do for work?” asked Porthos, wondering whether it would be an insult to offer her a job.

“The logistics are a bit complicated, but I’m okay,” she assured him. “My partner’s in the army so we’re fine for money. It’s Athos that I worry about. See if you’re better at organising him than I am. For a man with so few belongings, he’s in a right bloody muddle.”

As Porthos ascended into that private world upstairs, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Opening the door, a fraction at a time, he peered into a living area that was a sea of clutter, with Athos and Richelieu marooned on an island in the center of it all.

“Constance wasn’t exaggerating,” he said with a wry grin. “Tell me how I can help?”

“I was considering having a bonfire,” said Athos. “Only I don’t think the bank would be too happy with that idea.” 

He picked up his camera which was close at hand and took a low level photograph of Porthos’ legs, half obscured by a large and rather dusty rubber plant. 

“No time for that,” said Porthos, jumping over boxes and hurdling the settee in order to reach the island paradise in the centre. Squeezing in next to them, he was quite touched when the dog looked up at him and then shifted a little, its head coming to rest on his thigh.

Athos’ mouth curved upwards into a half smile as he took a shot of this moment of bonding.

“Let me see,” said Porthos and taking the camera he then scrolled through the gallery, shaken to find himself immersed in such a familiar world. “These are amazing. I love the way you look at life.”

“Photography allows me to remain detached,” said Athos. “It also reminds me that there is beauty and hope and humour to be found in the strangest of places.”

“Such as my legs?” said Porthos.

“Exactly,” replied Athos and as they grinned at one another, Porthos realised, with a sudden shock of insight, that it was no different to talking online. 

Before long, Richelieu was whining to go out and as they descended the stairs and made their way through the cafe, Constance shook her head at them in despair. “Not one thing has been put in the back of the van.” She glowered at Porthos. “I thought you said you were good at carrying things.”

“Plenty of time for all that,” said Athos, barging Porthos in the direction of the exit. “Go quickly before she gives us a list of orders.”

They took the dog on a long walk to a nearby common where Porthos bought them coffees from the snack bar.

“Seems a bit silly when we’re both owners,” he said as they chose a table next to the water bowl so that Richelieu too could get a drink. “But I figure it's neutral ground. No more café wars.”

“I never really put up much of a fight,” said Athos dejectedly.

Porthos smiled at him. “Verbally you did,” he replied.

“The honest truth is that if I hasn’t been left the Garrison by a very dear friend then I’d have no interest in it whatsoever,” said Athos. “Probably why I’m so terrible at the business side of things.”

Porthos knew better than to interrupt the flow. Talking was good medicine.

“John managed to keep costs low, feeding those who needed it and still balancing the books. I don’t know how he did it.” Athos hunched over as he stirred his coffee, a picture of abject misery with all the life drained out of him. “When I inherited the Garrison, it had no loans attached to it. After two years I was going under and had to mortgage the premises. Now, even with an accountant helping out, I’ve failed at the one thing that mattered to John.”

“John was your friend?” prompted Porthos.

“He was,” said Athos. “He forced food down me when I couldn’t be bothered to eat. He took me in when I was at rock bottom. I loved him, although he had no idea I felt so deeply about him. When he was killed in a car crash I thought my world had ended, but I carried on for his sake. Now I’ve lost his world.”

“I could buy it,” said Porthos in a low voice.

“What?” said Athos, looking up at him.

“I could buy the Garrison. You and Constance could run it for me.”

Athos stood abruptly, the dog jumping to attention at his side.

“Thank you for the offer, but no,” he said, the warmth missing from his voice. “That would go against everything that John stood for. I wouldn’t ever consider selling out to you, Mr Vallon.”

It was a make or break moment where much bravery was required.

“Please don’t run off,” said Porthos, his fingers closing loosely around Athos’ wrist. “I didn’t mean that I’d turn the Garrison into an N&B. I’d never dream of doing that.” Letting go, he sank into his seat. “Fuck it, I’m hopeless at this.”

“You’re not hopeless at all,” replied Athos, sitting back down. “I’m sorry for overreacting. I’m particularly raw at the moment, but I do generally have a bad temper and a tendency to lash out at people. Probably why I’ve been single most of my life.”

“And now?” prompted Porthos.

“Now there is the dream of someone,” said Athos quietly. “Although things haven’t been going as well with him as I’d hoped they might.”

“He sounds very airy fairy,” chuckled Porthos. “What’s this dreamboat like?”

“Nice, kind, funny. He always knows how to pick me up when I’m down.”

“And what does Mr Wonderful look like? 

Athos glanced sheepishly at him and then steered his gaze towards the trees at the edge of the common. “To tell you the truth I don’t know. I met him online.”

Porthos grinned. “You dope,” he said. “He’s bound to be a prize pillock. What’s his nickname?”

“Tallanddark,” replied Athos. “Not that it's any business of yours.”

“So, the handsome part is missing from the end.” Porthos raised both eyebrows. “A definite clue that he’s a proper minger.”

“If by minger you mean ugly then he’s not,” said Athos with feigned haughtiness. “And even if he was I wouldn’t care. It’s what’s inside a person that matters.”

Porthos spluttered with laughter. “You must be an avid reader of Mills and Boon, my friend,” he said pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and sighing dramatically. “Athos worshipped every part of his tall and dark lover, including the burns he had received when rescuing his neighbours from a raging inferno. But today was a landmark for them both. The bandages were slowly removed to reveal that the surgery had been a success and that those scars were now miraculously healed.”

“Funny man,” said Athos, laughing for the first time since Porthos had known him. ‘It’s not like that at all. He’s the first person I’ve cared about since John died.”

Porthos did his best to hide the emotion that had welled up inside him. “Then your online feller is a very lucky bloke,” he said sincerely.

“I must get back,” said Athos, looking at his watch. “I have so much to do.”

“The two of us will get it done in no time,” said Porthos, reaching out and letting his hand cover Athos’. “I need to give these muscles a decent workout.”

“Show off,” said Athos. “Still, I suppose there should be some practical use to them. At present they only make up for your lack of brain cells.”

They began their walk across the park, keeping the war of words going all the way back to the Garrison.

“So tallanddark is a genius compared to me?” said Porthos.

“Of course,” replied Athos with a smirk. “I’d never date an idiot.”

“You do realise that tall and dark obviously means short and pale in real life.”

“My favourite attributes,” smirked Athos. “Tall and dark is only worthwhile when applied to coffee.”

Porthos grinned, holding the door open for Athos and Richelieu to enter the Garrison.

“Shit!” 

Attempting to clear the top shelf, Constance had mistimed her jump and knocked over an open bag of flour, the contents spilling everywhere and turning her ghostly white from head to toe.

Grabbing his phone Athos took a shot of her, her hands covering her face as she hurtled towards him. 

“No you don’t, Mister. You stop that right now. You two get your arses upstairs and start packing, or else.”

“Or else what?” muttered Porthos.

“I don’t know, but we’d better do as she says,” replied Athos as they evaded the clutches of the spectral figure and escaped to the first floor.

“Thinking about it, Darth Vader was the epitome of tall and dark,” said Porthos as he stacked a set of Star Wars DVD’s into a banana box. “I bet your feller loves to dress up in a long black cloak and swagger around at conventions.”


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos spent the next few days with Athos, helping him clear out the flat and move into the spare room at Constance’s place, which was unsurprisingly Bohemian in style but, at the same time, surprisingly nice. The hardest part was helping him choose which things to throw away, especially when he discovered that most of the stuff here had belonged to John.

“I’m glad we weren’t lovers,” said Athos matter-of-factly as he sorted out another box for the charity shop. “When he died this would have been so much harder.” His sad smile was also one of acceptance. “Thank you for helping me with this. I’m not sure I’d have managed it without you and Constance.”

Later that week, worlds collided when Porthos clicked on Tumblr and found a new photo set from @laughing. Two of the pictures were of him. Part of him to be specific -- his legs from behind a forest of dark green leaves and his thigh as a resting place for a weary lurcher. The subject of the third was the Ghost of Constance Past, cropped to hide her identity, but still hilarious -- more so if you had been there. _You got a friend in me_ was the caption, which resulted in Porthos coming over all emotional again, not something he was used to.

He reposted and added some words.

_You’ve got troubles and I got them too. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you._

tallanddark: I never took you for a Toy Story fan.

laughingisforfools: Everyone’s a Toy Story fan. The argument is over which one you like the best.

tallanddark: Well?

laughingisforfools: I’m unbiased. I love them all in equal measure.

tallanddark: Me too. I have most of the Disney films on Blu-ray if you want to come and watch them.

laughingisforfools: Dangerous territory again. ;) I haven’t forgotten our last date.

tallanddark: But this time you’ll have my home address.

There was another of those long pauses.

tallanddark: Too soon?

laughingisforfools: Perhaps. I don’t know. You confuse me.

laughingisforfools: You don’t happen to cosplay Star Wars characters as a hobby, do you?

Porthos burst out laughing.

tallanddark: No. I prefer to play naked ;)

laughingisforfools: Now you’re really confusing me.

tallanddark. Sorry. How about we meet up somewhere neutral to walk your dog? I promise I won’t be naked, or dressed as Darth Vader. And I swear I won’t run away. Please give me a chance to make up for last time.

laughingisforfools: Tomorrow afternoon? 

tallanddark: Great. :) I’ll meet you at the Common around three.

It was the same place that they had walked Richelieu together.

tallanddark: I reckon it’s pretty near you.

Porthos pictured the frown of confusion on Athos’ face and wondered how this would turn out. It had so much potential to go horribly wrong.

laughingisforfools: It is actually. Okay then, I’ll meet you at the bridge. Let’s hope we don’t need a third chance to be lucky.

tallanddark: We won't. :) Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. :-*

laughingisforfools: :-*

Happy with life, Porthos hummed the Toy Story song all the way to the Italian restaurant where he was meeting up with Aramis for an early dinner.

“Someone’s full of himself tonight,” said his friend, a knowing smile on his face. “You’ve got a definite spring in your step and I think I know why.”

The waiter then came over with the menus and took their drinks order which gave Porthos a little time to collect his thoughts.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said afterwards, full of mock innocence.

“Don’t act dumb with me, chéri,” beamed Aramis. “I saw you on Tumblr. I’d recognise those sturdy thighs anywhere. Someone’s been playing with Mr Lafere.”

Playing immediately made Porthos think of deception and his happiness ebbed away. “Not really,” he said. “The Garrison has gone bust and I’ve been helping him move out.”

“Fuck,” said Aramis. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a nice little place with a lot of potential.”

“Athos says it wasn’t my fault. His heart was never in it and I believe him,” said Porthos. “We’ve been getting on really well. Only-” His words petered out.

“Only what?” asked Aramis, tasting the wine and nodding his approval.

“Only he still doesn't know that I’m the same bloke he’s been chatting with on Tumblr.”

“Oh Porthos.” Aramis looked despairingly at him, pouring them large glasses from the bottle that the waiter had left.

“And now I’ve arranged to meet him at the park tomorrow,” continued Porthos.

“You you, or tall dark you?”

“The last one,” said Porthos in a miserable voice. “Do I cancel again? Do I carry on seeing him as myself and let tallanddark vanish into the ether? Do I tell him the truth before our date?” He gulped down a mouthful of wine. “Maybe I should quit while I’m behind and give up on him completely.”

“You’re entirely captivated by the man, so why would you even consider doing that?” questioned Aramis in astonishment. “Fight for him, Porthos. Take it to the mattresses if necessary, but do whatever it takes to convince him that you love him.”

Porthos looked up startled and Aramis shrugged.

“Well, you do,” he continued. “It’s obvious. You love him so much that it's driving you mad, and me along with it. I’ve never seen you so infatuated with a person, or perhaps two persons in this case.”

“I think you might be right,” muttered Porthos. “Maybe this explains why I’ve been so up and down lately.”

Aramis shook his head. “No, that’s because you’ve been carrying out a bizarre cat fishing routine which is doing all our collective heads in.” He pushed the menu towards Porthos. “Now choose some food before I starve to death. I have to keep up my energy levels for Mme Bourbon.”

Porthos grinned. His love life might be complicated, but it would never compete with Aramis’ series of spectacular fuck ups.

The next morning was a busy one and he had to get up ridiculously in order to fit in several important business meetings before his rendezvous with Athos. He then cabbed it home, making himself a salad wrap for lunch and eating it on the way upstairs to the bedroom to get changed into something more casual.

The power of positive thinking was the only thing keeping him going and right now it was running low on battery power.

“You look pretty damn good,” he said as he examined his reflection in the dressing mirror. “Now all you have to do is convince your bad tempered, arch nemesis of a date that you’re neither a freak nor a player. Simple.” 

Double checking, to make sure he hadn’t got shaving foam in his ear or toothpaste on his chin, he gave himself a positive thumbs up and charged downstairs, ready to take Aramis’ advice and make this work, even if it killed him. Startled by an alert noise from his phone, he checked it with nervous anticipation.

laughingisforfools has sent a message: Just so I know whether to bother, are you actually thinking of turning up this time?

tallanddark: :P Just leaving the house to catch the bus. I’ll be there in half an hour. Will you be accompanied by your camera or Mr Darcy?

laughingisforfools: Mr Darcy’s busy. Today it’s just me and my dog.

tallanddark: :) Then I’ll see you at three o’clock by the bridge. 

laughingisforfools: By the way, I won’t be bringing a picnic.

tallanddark. As long as you bring you. :-*

laughingisforfools: I will if you will. ;) :-*

As Porthos left the house, he noticed a bus approaching the nearest stop and broke into a run. He then changed his mind, because the last thing he wanted was to arrive all sweaty. Once it had driven past him he panicked, wondering what he would do if another one didn’t turn up. Catch a cab was the obvious answer, but the uncertainty left him feeling nauseous. This was horrible. Going on dates was a stupid idea. He should have stuck to internet porn, which was far safer and much less traumatic.

Thankfully the next bus arrived on time and he boarded it, taking the seat nearest to the exit so that he didn’t get hemmed in. A quick glance at his watch told him that he still had twenty minutes to go before he would be officially classed as late.

Getting off at the entrance to the Common, he took a few swift breaths in order to calm himself and then began to saunter, march, stroll along the rambling pathway, finally picking a stride pattern that suited the mood of the hour. He had to be determined. Be able to convince Athos that he wasn’t a cat fishing freak, as Aramis had so kindly labelled him -- a description that wasn’t even factually correct. He had never tried to pretend he was someone he wasn’t, only that he wasn’t someone he was. Jesus Christ! No wonder Athos had called him confusing.

There was the bridge, and there, to his abject terror and utter delight, was Athos, gazing into the stream, his forearms resting on the wooden railing.

Richelieu was first to spot Porthos, up on his feet with his tail wagging in pleasure at the sight of his new friend.

“Hi,” said Porthos softly to both dog and owner.

Athos turned to look at him, an indecipherable expression on his face.

“I hope I’m not a disappointment,” continued Porthos, searching for some small sign of hope to cling onto.

Eyes which had the power to wound with a single look, softened to a warm mossy green. “I’m glad it's you,” said Athos. “I wanted it to be you.”

Porthos took a step forward and then another and another, loneliness diminishing by the second. He could _tell_ Athos that he loved him--after all it would be true--but instead he chose to show him, tilting his head, smiling a little and then leaning in for a first and incredibly meaningful kiss.

“I’m really glad you wanted it to be me,” he said as they drew apart, both of them laughing at the ridiculous, crazy, wonder of it all. Proof that it was not only beauty, hope and humour that could be found in the strangest of places, but more importantly, love.

Their second kiss was longer and far more involved, tongues searching each other out as they discovered what fascinating new heights could be reached when locked together on an old wooden bridge in an uninspiring acre of common land.

Richelieu barked, perhaps congratulating them on their new relationship status or, more likely, fed up of being ignored.

“I can cook dinner,” said Porthos, helplessly, hopelessly happy. “I’m sure I can rustle up something for the three of us.”

“Sounds good,” said Athos, taking hold of Porthos’ hand. “Does it come with a side order of Disney films?”


	7. Chapter 7

This, Porthos decided, was going to be his first ever grown up relationship. All the others had begun with sex. Sometimes feelings had grown and sometimes the reverse had happened, but there was a truth, universally acknowledged, that going about things arse backwards inevitably led to breakups. This was a fact well and truly proven by Aramis’ long line of disastrous affairs.

They walked home together, stopping off at a convenience store in order to pick up dog food and snacks. 

“I really like being with you,” said Porthos, still determined, up to the point where his key entered the lock, that they were going to take things slowly. 

This resolve went missing the moment the door swung open and then closed behind them, allowing them some privacy for the first time since they'd officially been together.

With Richelieu released from his lead and off on a mission to explore, the two men clung to one another, indulging in more of those wonderful kisses that dictated the play and drove them towards the stairs, plastic bag discarded on the hall table as they headed inexorably to bed.

Hours later they resurfaced, rumpled and exhausted, screwed in every way possible but up, leaving them both incredibly happy. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that,” said Porthos sheepishly as he emerged from the shower, toweling his hair dry. “I was thinking we should go slow.” He tackled Athos back onto the bed who grumbled a little at getting wet all over again and then happily gave in to more kisses. “But then again why wait for something so good?”

The bedroom door opened slowly and a long and rather sad face peered in at them.

“Sorry,” said Athos a slightly embarrassed smile on his lips. “He’s used to having the run of my flat. He’s probably hungry.”

It turned out that the dog was craving company rather than food, and as soon as Porthos patted the bed he jumped up and lay at their feet.

“He was also part of my inheritance,” explained Athos. “John found him abandoned by the side of the road when he was a puppy. I never considered myself to be a dog person, but he’s helped me through the worst of times.”

This John bloke had a habit of collecting strays, thought Porthos. 

“I worry about Serge and his friends,” said Athos. “They’ve grown used to the Garrison being a place of safety.”

Porthos sucked in a deep breath. It was now or never. “It still can be,” he said as he got dressed. This was going to go one of two ways and he had no idea which was more likely. “I’m buying the café. I thought I’d ask Constance to run it. You as well, if that’s what you want.”

“You'd do that for me?” said Athos.

“Nah,” said Porthos, feeling unusually shy. “I listened to my mate Aramis. The Garrison’s got a lot of potential and I like the ethos behind it.” He shrugged. “Not everywhere has to be a number and make money. Sometimes it’s other things that matter the most.”

“I don’t want to run it,” said Athos and the corner of his mouth tipped upwards. “But I’d like to be a part of it.”

“And so you shall be.” Porthos grinned, relieved that Athos wasn’t angry with him. “Aramis has already earmarked your photos for the walls.”

“I’d actually like to go back to university and finish my degree,” said Athos thoughtfully. “That might be possible now.”

“Anything’s possible,” said Porthos, full of joy. “ _Everything’s_ possible.”

“Especially if Constance and her partner move into the Garrison and I can have my flat back.”

Porthos frowned. “I thought you were down and out?”

“Definitely down, but never quite out,” said Athos with a full smile. “Now, thanks to you, I’m decidedly up.”

“In all ways,” chuckled Porthos, having a sneaky grope and then bouncing out of bed to usher the dog downstairs and bribe him with some treats.

He returned carrying a bottle of wine in a cooler and two glasses, only to find Athos fast asleep. Undressing, he climbed into bed and spooned up behind him, letting out a deep sigh of contentment. This wasn’t rushing into things. This was common sense.

The next morning, after some drowsy, early hours sex, Porthos got up to welcome in a brand new world. The lurcher was asking to be let out and so he took him on a long walk to a nearby park, returning with a bag of warm croissants from the local artisan bakery only to find that Athos was cooking.

“I guessed where you’d gone,” he said. “My boy loves his routine. I bet he even told you when it was time to head back.”

“He actually did,” said Porthos in wonder, stroking the dog’s head. He’d never been a pet owner before and was enjoying it greatly.

After feeding Richelieu and adding fresh water to his makeshift bowl, he washed ready for breakfast and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

The charcoal toast, sticky beans and incinerated bacon wasn’t the best he’d had by any means, but he still wolfed it down, mostly out of politeness.

“This is why Constance was my pastry chef,” smirked Athos. “I can burn water.”

“I don’t care,” said Porthos, locking an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a long lasting kiss. “As long as I have you, I don’t care about anything.”

“You have me,” replied Athos. “Question is what are you going to do with me?”

“Let me think,” growled Porthos. “I’m sure I can come up with an idea or two.”

That evening, when those ideas were finally exhausted, they visited Constance with a business proposition to put to her.

“I’m so happy for you both,” she gushed, showing them inside. “I knew you liked him,” she said to Porthos, elbowing him slyly.

“I already told you I did,” replied Porthos, rubbing his sore ribs.

“Yes, but women’s intuition told me first,” she said, her eyes twinkling with delight.

She was even more overjoyed when Porthos asked her to run the Garrison for him. 

“I’d love to,” she said, turning then to Athos. “This means you can have this flat back and I’ll save on rent money. I don’t know why we didn't think of it before.”

“John, I suppose,” said Athos and he glanced at Porthos with such a look of love that Porthos’ happy heart missed a beat. “But I’m over him now.”

They were about to leave the building when a handsome whirlwind breezed in through the front door, military jacket slung over a shoulder and his cap tilted across one eye.

“Athos,” he said warmly, going in for a hug and then breaking free to scrutinise Porthos. “Hello there.” The hat came off for a better view. “Any friend of Athos’ is most definitely a friend of mine. I’m Constance’s other half, d’Artagnan.”

“Porthos. Pleased to meet you.” The name seemed familiar and after a lightbulb moment he caught Athos’ eye and grinned. “You must both come over to dinner. If the weather stays nice you can use the pool.”

“Thanks,” said d’Artagnan, sounding understandably bemused. “We’d like that. See you guys later.”

“Dirty bastard,” chuckled Porthos as soon as they were alone. “Sleeping with the pool boy, d’Artagnan. I bet Constance has no idea that you fancy the knickers off her man.”

“I don’t. I didn’t,” said Athos, flushing red under the streetlights. “He has an interesting name.”

“And a nice arse,” laughed Porthos.

“He’s very straight and he’s taken,” said Athos. “I will, however, concede that he’s a good looking young man.” He pulled Porthos into a convenient recess. “Although not half as good looking as you.”

Making out in shop doorways was not something that Porthos would have previously considered to be part of a grown up relationship, but it was bloody good fun all the same.

“Oh god yes, d’Artagnan,” moaned Athos later that night in bed when Porthos took him deep into his throat.

“You git,” snorted Porthos, stopping what he was doing and covering Athos with his body, hands closing around his wrists. “Say sorry.”

“For what?” replied Athos, innocence personified.

“No teasing, or there'll be an embargo on this,” said Porthos, grinding down and adding a not so subtle thrust at the end. “And no more Toy Story ever.”

“Now that’s just mean,” said Athos, breaking free and twisting them over until he was sat astride. “Is that a snake in your boots, or are you pleased to see me?”

“That doesn’t even make sense and you know it,” said Porthos and he laughed until the tears ran, Athos joining in with him. “We’re pretty amazing together,” he added, when he had recovered enough to speak. “You know I love you, yeah?”

“I know,” said Athos who was busy kissing a trail down Porthos’ belly. “Same goes for me.”

“Gah,” moaned an ecstatic Porthos, his fingers twining into Athos’ hair as that mouth arrived at its destination. “Really really love you.”

Even with such a vast amount of mushy stuff going on, they still found time to relaunch the Garrison. The decorators had worked their magic, freshening it up throughout and yet still keeping it simple. A few pieces of state of the art coffee making equipment had been installed, plus a small kitchen and bathroom added to the rear, partitioning this area off from the main body of the café. Constance and d’Artagnan were thrilled with their sparkly, low rent accommodation and moved in as soon as it was ready.

Aramis too had been busy, nagging Athos into editing his photographs and choosing which would be framed for display. Some of them Porthos had picked to hang in his house--their house now--the ones that meant the most, featuring legs, feet, and a dog’s greying muzzle.

The hefty rental income from Athos’ flat allowed him the opportunity to return to his studies. Porthos would have happily paid for him to do so, but knew better than to offer. With a nudge in the right direction from Aramis, the photography was also bringing in money, but this was of secondary importance, Athos’ dream always to become a teacher.

“Why didn’t you finish your degree the first time around?” asked Porthos, chopping up vegetables as he tried out a new recipe for oven baked Spanish chicken.

“My wife had ambitions which didn’t match mine. Then, after that went wrong, John was determined to keep me safe,” said Athos, refilling their wine glasses. “Whereas you -- you let me fly.”

“Flying is good,” grinned Porthos, extraordinarily smug at how this happy ever after was turning out. “You can fly me now, if you want.”

Sometime later, Richelieu enjoyed a tasty dinner of dry chicken whilst the other two members of the household settled down for an evening that involved pizza, movies, and a lot of greasy and rather cheesy kisses.

 

\---end


End file.
